


When the waves crash on the shore.

by TheAppleSeed



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coping, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt Neil Josten, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Neil Josten, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26713918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAppleSeed/pseuds/TheAppleSeed
Summary: For so long, Neil had wished to be something real, to not have to run from his past or lie. But being 'Neil Abram Josten' was hard. He'd spent so much time wishing for it to be real, seeing it as nothing more than an impossible dream. But when he finally became something more than nothing—he didn't know how to do it. Being a real person instead of a lie was something Neil had no experience in.He had been walking dangerously close to a ledge for the last nine months, and he didn't know how to reign himself back from it anymore.
Relationships: Neil Josten & The Foxes (All For The Game), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	When the waves crash on the shore.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!   
> Just a heads up that I will be putting warnings before chapters when needed as this story will be addressing Andrew and Neil's mental health, it's gonna be a lil dark in some places but I will not be putting anything to do with self-harm or abuse in detail. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the story!

Neil watched the rain patter lightly against the window from where he was curled up on the desk. The Winter cold hugged his skin which was exposed to the glass panes. Neil's cigarette burnt slowly between his fingers; it was the only thing apart from the street lights far below illuminating the room around him. The smoke was both comforting and choking amidst his exhaustion; Neil hadn't been able to get a decent night's sleep for over a week now. He didn't want to admit it—that the reason for it was because Christmas was fast approaching, and so were the memories that Neil hadn't let himself deal with yet.

He'd ended up sneaking out of his bunk every night for the past week, curling up on the desk, and lighting up a cigarette. He couldn't lay still, and he knew that all his moving around would undoubtedly stir Andrew, who slept in the loft below him. Andrew had been giving Neil the space he needed while also keeping a close eye on him. Still, he could tell that Andrew's patience for Neil's behavior was wearing thinner and thinner by the hour. Neil hadn't left the security of his dorm room apart for class and the court in three weeks. Nicky had tried to convince him to come to Columbia with them, and the upperclassmen tried talking him into movie nights or dinners, but Neil didn't budge.

He spent his nights with Kevin and Andrew at the court, exhausting himself enough to get at least a couple hours of unbroken sleep, but those hours felt too short. The ache of his muscles stirred the memories he'd pushed far down, memories of knives and the hard crack of an exy stick slamming against his body. Every night was getting worse, the nightmares vivid and painful; they left him feeling raw and vulnerable, and god did he hate it. He hated how he couldn't get over this, couldn't get over what Riko put him through a year ago, or his reunion with his Father nine months ago. Neil hated it even more that he couldn't hide it from the others, hated how he couldn't lie about his feelings for once, hated how they were all seeing right through him.

His Mother would've beaten him for getting so close to other people. She would've scolded him for being so stupid, her closed fist collecting the side of his face. She would've made him never forget that this pain is what he got for dreaming of being anything more than what he was. This is what Neil got for no longer being nothing. For so long, he had wished to be something real, to not have to run from his past or lie about who he really was. But being 'Neil Abram Josten' was hard. He'd spent so much time wishing for it to be real, seeing it as only an impossible dream. But when he finally became something more than nothing—he didn't know how to do it. Being a real person instead of a lie was something Neil had no experience in. He had been walking dangerously close to a ledge for the last nine months, and he didn't know how to reign himself back from it anymore.

Neil peels himself away from the window, stubbing his cigarette out against the frame. He needed to move, he couldn't stand being this still all the time, couldn't stand his aching muscles. In every one of his nightmares, he's always frozen in place, never able to run; all he can do is lay there and let his body remember what it was like. It made it harder and harder to wake up and forget the damage done on his skin. Every scar on his mauled body was a harsh reminder that his nightmares weren't dreams, but memories that would never go away. 

Neil glances out the window and sighs in annoyance; this weather was ridiculous. It had been rainy and miserable for days now, and it didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. He'd been intercepted multiple times from going on runs because of it, and Neil got the feeling that the team didn't think he'd come back. Andrew would always brace his arm in the doorway in front of Neil and hold up the court keys instead. Neil took it for what it was, an ultimatum; either stay in the dorm or go to the court. 

Neil felt hollowed out like someone had come along and ripped out all feeling; it was both a heaviness on his chest and the feeling of weightlessness. Time was slow and fast. Everything was happening around him, but nothing involved him. He felt as though he was watching from the outside in; nothing felt  _ right _ . He didn't feel fine, that was for sure. He was so exhausted, yet at the same time, he had never felt the need to move more. He snuck back into the bedroom, grabbing a hoodie and his running shoes. He searched the dresser for the court keys, knowing he usually sat them on the top.

"Looking for these," Andrew's voice cuts through the silence, the jingling of metal hitting metal made Neil twitch.

Neil doesn't say anything; instead, he turns and heads for the living room, knowing that they'd wake Nicky and Kevin. Andrew follows as Neil knew he would, and shuts the bedroom door behind him. Neil watches and notes how Andrew takes a few more steps into the room, positioning himself between him and the door that led into the hallway. Neil leans against the counter and locks his gaze onto Andrew's hazel eyes, which are flushed out in the now lit living room. He doesn't look impressed in the slightest, his hair sleep tousled, and the dark bruises under his eyes prove that he too hadn't been sleeping well either.

"You were at the court three hours ago," Andrew states bluntly, slipping the keys into his hoodie pocket.

"And?" Neil bites back a little harsher than he intended to sound.

"And you were at the court only three hours ago," Andrew doesn't sound bitter, but Neil knows him well enough to understand the annoyance playing across his tired eyes, even if it was only a small glimmer of it.

"I can't sleep," Neil answers, his voice smaller than usual, and it catches Andrew's attention.

"You haven't tried," Andrew says back, his eyebrow peeking up as if willing Neil to argue back and test how far his patience will take him.

"I'm only going to the court, I'll be back soon," Neil, against his better judgment, argues back.

Andrew raises his eyebrow even higher at him and scoffs sarcastically, though there is no humor in the way he's looking at Neil. "You're lying." 

"Andrew, I have to go," Neil's voice breaks slightly, but he holds his ground. He didn't want to talk about anything right now; he didn't have the energy to be confronted and explain himself. He just wanted to run because he hadn't exhausted himself enough at their night training. 

"No, you don't. Stop running and go to sleep," the agitation seeps into Andrew's voice, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. 

"I can't! Listen, we go away to the cabin Allison booked in the morning, and I won't have a lot of time to train while I'm there. Besides, I'm not asking permission, I told you I'm going to the court for a couple hours, I'll be back when I'm done," Neil snaps as the last shred of his patience finally breaking. Andrew stares at him, his expression is cold and irritated as he racks his eyes up and down Neil in a quick once over. 

"Take your phone," Andrew grinds out as the bedroom door creaks open, and a half-asleep Kevin steps out. 

"Would you two shut up," he mumbles out as he rubs the heel of his hand against his eye. The two watch as Neil walks back to his desk and rips his phone from the charger before returning to Andrew, holding his hand out for the keys. 

"You can't be serious? Neil, you have to rest," Kevin says as Andrew drops the keys into Neil's open palm. 

Neil didn't bother answering Kevin, knowing that it would just turn into another argument about Neil prioritizing his health, so he was fit to play. He was out the door before he could hear another word from either of them, opting to take the stairs instead of the lift. He jumped a couple, wanting to put as much distance between the dorm and himself as fast as possible. It felt good to get his feet moving again, to run away from his problems and his thoughts, to escape them all. Neil didn't care that he was running through the freezing winter rain; he just needed to escape the suffocation that was the dorm room's darkness. Even if it was only to the court, running made Neil feel like he had a taste for what it would really be like to escape from it all again. But the thought of leaving behind everything he had already built here, his family, a home, Andrew... That was a lot worse than the nightmares that haunted him the moment he closed his eyes. 

The feeling of saying goodbye to Neil Josten, saying goodbye to the foxes, will always be the most painful thing he has ever experienced.

Neil made it to the stadium and punched in the security gates code. This week, Wymack had set it to Nicky's birthday; Neil guessed he was really running out of ideas for new codes. Neil turned on the hallway lights and walked towards the foyer, tracing his fingers along the painted white walls with orange fox paws and the palmetto state foxes logo. He unlocked the men's changing rooms and started pulling off his soaked hoodie and shirt, discarding them on the floor on his way to his locker. 

Out of the corner of Neil's vision, he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the bathroom mirrors. He had avoided his appearance for months, only ever looking at himself in brief glances while getting out of the shower or brushing his teeth. Neil never actually let himself look at the damage. Never wanted to see his Father's eyes staring back at him. Despite this, Neil grabs his training gear from the locker and walks towards the mirror. 

Neil stares at his chest; every time he looks over his skin, he could feel the pain of the scars all over again. It felt like a dream, the dull phantom throbs of wounds already healed. He reaches up and shakily traces the marks across his body, his jaw clenching in disdain. Underneath the sickly purple and blue bruises from his latest game were the scars of his past.

He ran his fingers over the gun-shot wound's puckered flesh and the hot iron's large triangular burn mark. Neil continued to trace the uncountable amount of knife cuts both from his Father or life on the run. 

Neil made the mistake, right as nausea unsettled his stomach, of looking up. His gaze locked onto that of the cold icy blue eyes of his Father. It took everything he had to breathe through it, to remind himself that Nathan Wesinski was dead and he was alive. Neil started to count to ten in every language he knew until he was composed enough to look away. 

He held his hands under the cold water that streamed from the faucet and splashed his face, running his fingers through his already wet hair and rubbing his eyes vigorously with the heels of his hands. He held his arms out in front of him and examined the circular and straight scars that ran up both of them. They still had a pinkness to them from being so recent, and he hated his Father and Lola for marking him so visibly, for forcing pity on him that he didn't deserve.

Neil turned away from the mirror and pulled on his black armbands, and a dry hoodie and shorts, not caring to change into any protective gear. Fortunately, his spare shoes and socks were also in his locker, and when he was no longer soaking wet from head to toe, he grabs a whole punnet of balls and his exy stick and heads and out to the court. Neil breathes in a sigh of relief as he closes the court doors behind him; it was like shutting out the rest of the world, leaving just him and the goal in front of him. Neil walks out to the quarter line, tipping the balls out onto the floor into a small pile. Looking up at the large clock to his right, he realized that it was barely 4 in the morning. The goals were already set up, so he started firing straight away, ball after ball, sending them in rhythm to every corner of the goal as he called it.

He did this for hours, waiting for his mind to stop racing at a speed he couldn't keep up with; all he wanted was for his thoughts and fear to go away, and usually, Exy did that. Usually, the moment Neil picks up a ball, he can drill his mind to ease with precision exercises. But not this time, his body still ached from the two runs and practices he did today, along with the night practice only a few hours ago, and every shot he took was a reminder of being stuck in the nest, practicing for hours on end, and being beaten for longer.

Neil didn't care if he blew his arms out, he didn't care if he was here until he collapsed, or until he was shouted at, he just needed his mind to ease. He was terrified in a way he had never been before; everything was supposed to be fine now, he was alive, he was with the foxes, his Father and Riko had both been shot, they were dead, and he was alive. So why does it feel like he was losing a battle that he never knew he was fighting in the first place? Neil kept firing the balls into the goal, kept running to collect them, kept willing himself to calm down, and keep moving. But nothing felt right. Everything was so off-center that he felt himself slipping dangerously close to the edge that he'd been trying so hard to avoid for months.

Neil couldn't help but drop his stick on the next shot, the ball flying way past the goal and hitting the back wall sending a tremor through the plexiglass. His arms felt as though lead was pulsing through his veins; hours of shooting at the goal caused an exhaustion that Neil was all too used to by now. He winced as he tried to lift his hand up to massage his opposite bicep, but his arm hardly made it to that point before seizing up completely.

He let his body collapse to the floor, his knees propped up and his head hanging between them. His breathing shuddered his body violently, and he squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to get his bearings through the black spots that were glossing over his vision. The last time he had worked his body through this much fatigue was when he was in the nest, he was at his limit.

"I hope to god you haven't been doing what I think you've been doing?" A voice broke him from his exhaustion, and he tries to look up at his coach, but his head is too heavy to move.

Neil didn't answer; he knew that Wymack would most probably see right through his lies anyway and scold him for being an idiot. He only just manages to tilt his head to look towards the direction Wymack was in when he heard two sets of footsteps coming across the court, instead of one. Abby was walking alongside him, holding what looked like a bulky first aid kit under her arm. All Neil could do was heave out a sigh; if they were both here, then he must've really been here for hours.

"Neil, how long have you been here for?" Wymack asks, his voice stern as he stops in front of Neil's doubled over body. Wymack crosses his arms over his chest, distorting the palmetto state logo across his black shirt as he glares down at his exhausted striker.

"What's the time now?" Neil asks, hardly getting the words past his raspy and sore throat, and unable to keep his head up long enough to look Wymack in the eyes or at the clock on the far wall.

"About 9:30 in the morning," Wymack says.

That gets Neil's attention; his heart slams against his chest, he could now understand why exhaustion was riddling every inch of his body. He had been firing at the goal for five and a half consecutive hours without stopping. He thought that it would've been at least two, but he never double-checked the clock; his mind was too wrapped up in itself to notice the fatigue and the pain.

"Just over five hours," Neil mutters, somehow finding the energy to check the clock just to make sure that Wymack hadn't had a lapse in judgment.

"Jesus Christ, Abby, do you mind going and getting this idiot some water," Wymack bit back his frustration at Neil to address Abby, obviously not wanting to channel his anger towards him against her.

"Sure, you get him to the foyer, luckily I brought this today," she answers, Neil didn't look up, but he assumed she was talking about her first aid kit.

"How bad is it?" Wymack asks as Abby walks back towards the court doors.

"Not bad, I just blew out my arms, I wasn't thinking straight," Neil exclaims; he hadn't noticed until he looks up at his arms to see that they were trembling with spasms. Wymack was watching them with a calculating look as well.

"Not bad? Well, it doesn't look good... Are you doing this because it's getting close to Christmas?" Wymack replies bluntly at Neil's blase response. He isn't the type to dig into someone's personal life but seeing the state Neil was in obviously had him questioning his rationality.

"No," Neil mutters as he begins an attempt at standing. He presses the palms of his hands into the floor for leverage, but they crumple instantly under the littlest of pressure. Wymack grumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like a disapproving remark and reaches down, grabbing Neil and hoisting him up by the inside of his upper arm.

"What then?" He presses, but Neil says nothing. He knows better than to look away from Wymack, so instead, he looks at his jaw, easier that then his eyes. Wymack seems to take the hint because he sighs and nods in response.

"If I find you in this state ever again, I'll bench you for the rest of the season, do you understand?" Wymack scolds him as they both walk through the doors and into the inner court.

"I've heard that one before," Neil tries to joke. 

"Just say 'Yes, Coach' and shut up," Wymack grinds out through clenched teeth, not taking the bait of Neil trying to lighten the mood. 

"Yes, Coach," Neil says through deep breaths and lets Wymack escort him into the foyer. Abby already has her first aid kit set up on the coffee table in front of the couches and a couple of water bottles ready for Neil.

Neil doesn't have any fight in him to tell the two insistent adults that he was fine and instead, plants himself into the couch cushions. As soon as he hits the sofa, he hisses in pain as his muscles seize and spasm in protest. Abby gives him a small smile as if it would make him feel any better, whereas Wymack just shakes his head and leans his shoulder against the doorframe to his office.

"Neil, you need to drink some water," Abby instructs as she sits down on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, offering him a bottle.

"As if he could even hold that at this stage," Wymack says in disdain, which gets him a glare from Abby, though there is no real animosity behind it.

Neil takes the bottle in his trembling hands and manages to bring it to his lips for one small sip before having to put it back down again, resting it on his lap. That little sip of water made him realize just how dehydrated he really was, and the look on both Abby and Wymack's faces meant that they knew it too. 

"Jesus Neil, how hard were you working out there?" Abby mutters in shock as she leans forward and barely touches his bicep, which is visibly jolting through his hoodie sleeve.

"I wasn't thinking straight," Neil repeats again in an attempt to justify his actions. Both of them give him worried looks, but in their own way, Wymack's in the form of a scowl, and Abby was looking at him like he was wounded, and she could fix it. He didn't like either very much.

"I haven't been sleeping well," Neil tries to explain, knowing that just saying he 'wasn't thinking straight' wasn't going to cut it as a satisfactory explanation.

"Do we need to look into getting you some medication to help you sleep?" Abby asks cautiously. 

Neil shakes his head in response and keeps his eyes down on his trembling fingers, which could barely grasp the water bottle in his lap. The idea of possibly being locked in a nightmare without being able to wake up was a much more terrifying prospect than just merely being tired. 

"No, usually training exhausts me enough to get me to sleep, this time I don't know what happened," he replies, sucking in a breath in preparation for moving his stiff arm into a more comfortable position.

Abby nods, taking it for what it was before gesturing at Neil's chest. "Neil, I'm going to have to get you to take your hoodie off, I can see your muscles jolting under your sleeves, and if I don't massage them now, you won't be able to move your arms very well for the rest of the Christmas break," Abby instructs as she rummages through her first-aid kit. She didn't notice how Neil's body flinched in reaction to her choice of words, but Wymack did. 

"Neil, hey, breathe. I'm going to lock the doors so nobody will walk in, do you want me to call Andrew?" Wymack's voice levels out into something calmer; it was as if he was speaking to a cornered animal—like he could see all the fear Neil was feeling at the idea of being touched.

"Yeah," Neil whispers, knowing that Andrew was most probably waiting for him to call or was trying to get a hold of him even though Neil had turned off his phone and left it in the locker room. 

Abby helps Neil out of his hoodie, and thankfully, Abby lets him keep on his shirt and armbands, as Wymack locks the foyer door. Neil hears Abby suck in a deep breath through clenched teeth. Neil looks down at where Abby is carefully holding his forearm and sees how his bicep muscle is cramping; it was odd that it didn't hurt more than he expected, that it more or less just felt like a dull throb instead of sharp pain. 

"Hey, yeah, get to the court," Wymack speaks into the phone, giving an incredulous look at Neil's erratic muscles. "The idiot has blown out his arms, he's not going to be able to get back to the dorm on his own," Neil watches Wymack pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers in frustration as he listens to whatever Andrew is saying on the other end. "Probably," is the last thing he says before dropping the phone back into his pants pockets. 

"Here, take these," Abby holds out a couple white pills, and Neil does nothing but stares down at them. 

"What are they?" 

"Painkillers," Abby says cautiously, her eyebrow perking up with confusion when Neil shakes his head. Neil hadn't even realized that Wymack had left into the next room until he placed a half-full bottle of whisky on the counter in front of him, the golden liquid sloshing with the movement. Neither of them says anything as Neil reaches forward and manages to curl his aching fingers around the neck of the bottle, pulling it back to his chest. He takes a few hard sips as Abby gets started on his first arm, starting at his shoulder and slowly making her way down, massaging all the kinks and knots away. Neil was glad that the spasms caused by his overexertion hid the way he flinched whenever she pressed somewhere that brought memories he wanted to keep buried back to the surface.

The whisky turned down the volume of Neil's thoughts, dulled his aching muscles, made it hard to concentrate on anything but what was happening in the room currently. It brought back the memories of medicating the pain with alcohol while on the run with his Mother. Hospitals were dangerous, so instead, alcohol was always the easiest way to numb it. He managed to bring the bottle back to his lips and swallow a few more gulps before Abby got to his wrist. And that was it. Not even the whisky could take away the memories of handcuffs holding him to the bed frame or the car seat. 

Neil is off the couch and running to the door the moment her fingers curled too tightly around his wrists. He could vaguely hear Wymack and Abby saying his name through the loud static echoing through his ears. He tries to pry the door open through his panic, but it doesn't budge, it's locked, he's stuck, he can't get out, he can't run, it's like his dreams. Neil throws himself at the locked door, almost crying out in frustration. He was back in Evermore, back in his Father's basement, underground, trying to escape from the one door that wouldn't open. Everything and nothing folded into him, constricted his lungs until he was gasping with dizziness and an urge to vomit. He threw his body into the door once more, and it shuddered on its hinges, but then... Then it opens, it opens and standing there is a blond-haired, hazel-eyed man, staring at Neil with that same apathetic look that always wakes him up from his panic in the end.

Andrew pulls Neil down to the ground, a firm hand on the nape of his neck. Andrew crouches in front of Neil as he folds in on himself, hugging his arms around his chest as he leans his forehead against Andrew's shoulder.

"Stop it," Andrew says. 

"Neil, breathe," Andrew says.

"Neil, you aren't there, you're at the Foxhole court with me," Andrew says. 

"Abram, you're with me," Andrew says, and Neil sucks in his first breath.


End file.
